“That’s it?” My eyebrows draw together with heartache. “We just go back to being enemies?”
“We never stopped.”
He starts to push himself off me, and in pure desperation, I frame his jaw with my hands and press my mouth to his.
Misha lets out a threatening growl, then his full weight hits me again. This time when he deepens the kiss, I don’t stop him.
I kiss the man with everything I’m feeling. The frustration. The heartache. The exhaustion. The despair. And as his tongue strokes mine, love and hope burst into full bloom in my chest.
We lose control, our hands grabbing and stroking while our mouths devour each other. It’s so freaking intense I’m dizzy from the kiss.
Misha’s hand covers my breast, and his touch is almost biting.
“Iisus Khristos!” He breaks the kiss and glares at me with a mixture of need and anger. “Trakhni moyu zhizn'.”
When he says, ‘fuck my life,’ I can hear the torment in his voice – his struggle between his loyalty to the bratva and his desire for me.
I place a palm against his jaw and sacrificing my pride, I plead, “Choose me.”Please.“Choose us.”
For the first time since I’ve known Misha, there’s pain on his face as he closes his eyes. He rolls off me, and falling onto his back, he lets out a groan that I feel deep in my bones.
He’s choosing the bratva.
Nodding, it takes all my strength to keep the tears back as I climb off his bed.
“Please unlock the door,” I whisper.
I fist my hands at my sides, and as Misha gets up and unlocks the door, I lift my chin and cling to the remnants of my pride as I walk out of his bedroom.
Exhausted to my very core, I leave his suite, only to see it’s in the same hallway as mine. I suck in a shuddering breath of air, and pulling the keycard from my pocket, I walk to my room and swipe it through the lock.
That’s it. Whether my parents like it or not, I’m done with St. Monarch’s.
Just as I turn to shut the door, Misha slams a hand against the wood, and stepping inside, his other hand grips the back of my neck.
I’m yanked toward him, and his eyes burn on me as he growls, “I can’t let you go.Khristos. I’m fucked because I can’t choose.”
When I try to pull back, he slams the door shut and tightens his hold on me. “Don’t make me choose, Aurora.”
“I’m not the one making you choose,” I cry. “If it were up to me, there would be no war between my family and yours.”
“Can you talk to your father?” he asks the impossible. “If he agrees to pay the bratva and mafia their share of his profits, the war will end.”
I let out an incredulous burst of laughter. “What makes you think my father will listen to me?” I gesture at the room. “He sent me to this shithole without warning me what it would be like. He’s a stubborn and hard man.” I pull away from Misha and shake my head. “Just like the whole lot of you. None of you are willing to compromise.”
“I’m a fucking enforcer,” Misha snaps. “In the bratva compromising is the difference between life and death.” He closes the distance between us, and grabbing me by my arms, he shakes me. “I’m the person they send out to take out a target. Do you understand what that means?”
I shake my head even though I know.
“If your father keeps trading without paying his dues, I’ll be forced to kill your family.” Excruciating pain etches deep lines in his face. “I’ll be forced to kill you. There’s no negotiating, no compromising. I’ll be given the order, and I have to obey.”
Or he’ll be killed for disobeying.
There are no winners in this war.
“I understand,” I whisper. I lock eyes with him, and meaning the words, I say, “I’m sorry for putting you in this position. I didn’t know who you were when we met.”
Misha shakes his head, overwhelming emotions warring on his face. “How do I remain loyal without letting you go?”